Redeaux
by Megan13
Summary: UPDATED 6/26/12. If Elizabeth had just arrived at that tavern a few hours earlier, things would have turned out much different. J/E, AU


**Title:** Redeaux (The Redo)  
><strong>Chapter:<strong> ?  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** James/Elizabeth  
><strong>SpoilersWarning:** R  
><strong>Summary:<strong> If only Elizabeth had arrived at that tavern a few hours earlier  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners, mainly Disney. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Right, so I re-read the original version of Redeaux and (as I tend to do) decided I just couldn't live with the end product. So I've made quite a few changes. In fact, the only real similarity with the original version is that they're at a tavern. UPDATED 6/26/2012

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><p>It was still rather early, barely dusk, when James Norrington stumbled into the tavern. He wasn't drunk (not yet, at least), but his day had been a bit more difficult than usual and, as he was no longer covered in stinking, rotting fish guts, the ex Commodore was rather enamored with the idea of getting completely and humiliatingly hammered. And he knew just how to go about it too.<p>

Ducking his face, James took a deep, steadying breath as he shuffled through the mass of stinking pirates and thieves and prostitutes. Though he'd become a bit of a regular these past few months, it was still difficult for some of the other, slower, patrons to understand he wasn't there to arrest them anymore. A pistol had been drawn on him more than once and he'd been at the core of several bar-wide brawls. He found it best (and easiest) to keep his head hung low.

Sidling up to the bar, James signaled the familiar bartender with a swirl of his finger and muttered blandly, "Pete."

"Wha'll it be tonight, Mr. Norrington?" Pete asked, smiling in what he hoped to be a sympathetic way. Of course, the old barkeep knew who ex Commodore James Norrington was and, while the man had certainly been bad for business when he was still in the Navy (killing off his customers was quite tough on his profit margin), he'd found a sort of soft spot for the poor fellow. After all, it was in his establishment that James first washed up after being brutally kicked out of the Navy and Pete had witnessed the man hitting rock bottom first hand. "I got a fresh bottle o' Old Best."

James grimaced. Old Best was neither Old nor Best. In fact, it was distilled right out back and tasted like turpentine. But as he couldn't really afford to be picky, James nodded his approval and sat back on a barstool while Pete wandered to the back for the 'good stuff'. Sighing, James tilted his face upwards to glance over his shoulder at his fellow patrons. Six months ago he'd been at the top of the world – a gentleman of extraordinary caliber and a Commodore in her Majesty's Royal Navy – and now he was nothing but a lowly, drunk baitsman with nothing to show for his years of service and loyalty but the clothes on his back and the few coins he rationed for drinks. He'd turned out precisely like the people he used to persecute: a filthy vagrant.

Pete returned from the back a few minutes later toting a bottle of Old Best. He placed the bottle on the bar before stooping down to find a not-too-dirty glass. His search was futile, however, and upon realizing none of the glasses could really be defined as clean, he shrugged and pulled out the one closest to him. "And 'ow was your day, Mr. Norrington?" Pete asked as he wiped out the inside of the glass with a brown, stained rag. Once cleaned to his satisfaction, Pete plunked the glass down in front of James and quickly went to work filling it. "That deck so clean you can see yoself in it?"

"No," James answered wearily as he grabbed the glass of moonshine. Once upon a time James would grimace at the condition of his cup and demand a fresh one but, as he'd woken up in a pigsty more than he'd care to admit to, a little bit of dirt and grime wasn't really all that much of a problem anymore- the alcohol disguised the taste and did a fine job at killing all the icky things. He tipped the full cup in Pete's general direction as thanks. "I was promoted."

"See there?" Pete cried happily. "On your way up, you are."

"Yes, because chumming is _such_ a prestigious position."

"A step up is a step up," Pete said wisely. "Thas what my da always used to say."

Not the most encouraging statement James had ever heard, but it was the truth nonetheless. "Thanks Pete." James shot him a weak smile- after all, the old man was only trying to help- and drained his drink in one go. _Shit_, that stuff burned on the way down.

He had just begun refilling his glass when someone suddenly plowed into him, causing the liquid he'd been pouring to splash all over his already soiled coat and vest.

"Oy!" James cried, leaping to his feet before he got completely soaked. "What the hell do you think-"

"I am so sorry!"

James froze, not even bothering to swipe at the alcohol now staining his coat. He _knew_ that voice; knew it better than his own, could distinguish it without second thought. But maybe, just maybe, his ears were deceiving him? Maybe, just maybe, he'd already accomplished his goal for the evening and had managed to stumble his way back to the tiny shithole he called home and was currently sleeping off the killer hangover he was sure to have? But no, he couldn't be dreaming. Elizabeth tended to be naked in his dreams, not clothed in the dirty rags only befitting a filthy cabin boy.

"James?"

It was her alright. James sighed and raised his eyes to meet hers. He had hoped she would never see him like this; never see what her betrayal had done to him.

"James Norrington?" Elizabeth grinned, eyes wide. "Is that you?"

"Hello Elizabeth," James said. He tried to smile but only managed a toothy grimace.

Elizabeth regarded the former Commodore for a moment, her smile slowly fading, before softly asking him, "So this is where you've been hiding all these months?"

James cocked an eyebrow. "Had to go somewhere, didn't I?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but couldn't think of a thing to say. She had, after all, been the one to cause his fall from grace and she knew it was her appalling actions against him that landed him in this godforsaken tavern to begin with.

"So," James started as he turned back towards the bar to pour himself a drink. He gestured to Pete for another cup and filled it too when it was placed in front of him. "What brings you here?"

"Will and I were arrested for treason," Elizabeth told him, taking the cup of Old Best he offered her. "Lord Beckett-"

"Beckett?" James interrupted. "With the East India Company? _That_ Lord Beckett?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, _that_ Lord Beckett."

James' nose wrinkled. "Asshole."

"Agreed," Elizabeth said with a giggle. In the ten years she'd known James Norrington he'd not once cursed in front of her. Maybe his months of slumming had actually helped improve his stuffy personality. She took a deep breath. "He sent Will to obtain Jack's compass with the promise of our full pardon once he has it in his hands."

"You haven't answered my question," James said after it was apparent she wasn't planning to continue and took a sip of his drink. "What brings _you_ here?"

"My father doesn't trust in Will's capabilities. He was able to get me out of prison but we were accosted by Beckett's men on the way to the ship I was to take to England." Elizabeth frowned. "They killed Captain Morgan."

"I'm sorry," James told her softly. Captain Morgan had been one of the best sailors, outside of the Royal Navy, he'd ever known and James wasn't lying when he told her, "He was a good captain and he will be sorely missed."

Elizabeth nodded. "I was able to secure Letters of the Marquee and then I hopped aboard a merchant vessel."

James nodded slowly, thinking about what she'd just told him. He didn't want to care, not at all, but the cogs were already turning in his head. He tried to sound completely unconcerned when he asked, "Do you have a plan?"

"Not so much," Elizabeth said with a shrug. "My aim is to find Jack. Once I have his compass, Will and I can return to Port Royal and present it to Beckett."

"And you think Jack will just hand over his compass?" James snorted. "Just like that?"

"Why shouldn't he?" Elizabeth asked, affronted.

"_He's Jack Sparrow_," James said, an incredulous look on his face, as if that explained it all. "It doesn't matter that the bloody thing is broken, what matters is that it is _his_."

"Jack is a good man."

James rolled his eyes and let the subject drop. It wasn't his business after all and, really, the absolute last person he wanted to waste his breath arguing the virtues of was Jack Sparrow. "To each their own."

They lapsed into silence, neither of them quite sure of how to proceed, and turned to their respective drinks. Elizabeth grimaced at the condition of her cup but, as her choices were entirely limited, she took a deep breath, lifted the glass to her lips and took a long swig of Old Best.

And promptly spat it back out all over the bar.

"_That_," she cried, staring at the liquid remaining in her cup with a look of abject horror upon her face, "is _foul_! What _is_ that?"

"Old," James managed to wheeze while trying desperately not to choke on his own laughter, "Best."

Elizabeth turned to him and couldn't help but grin as she watched him laugh at her. His smile, she thought, was really rather charming. If only he'd laughed more often.

James' laughter slowly died down as he caught her eye. Smiling, he asked, "What?"

"I think," Elizabeth said, "this may be the first time I've seen you laugh."

"And you find my laughter rather fetching?" James quipped before he could stop himself. He'd been doing that a lot lately; speaking before thinking. Most of the time it didn't matter much, but he wasn't talking to a drunken fisherman or a bawdy prostitute this time and he wanted to kick himself a second after the words left his mouth. "Miss Swann, I apolo-"

"I do," Elizabeth told him softly, turning away from him to try to hide the blush creeping across her cheeks. "I find it very fetching."

James' eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Elizabeth Swann, the same Elizabeth Swann who had used and abused him and had broken off their engagement for another man only months before, was flirting with him. And _that_, he thought, was an interesting turn of events. One he had not been expecting but was more than willing to explore.

"And I," James started and, suddenly feeling much bolder than ever before, crooked his finger under her chin and tilted her face back towards his, "find your blush very fetching."

Elizabeth made a little noise in the back of her throat as her eyes shifted to meet his and, though he wasn't quite sure when he'd decided caution was a thing better thrown to the wind, James took that little noise as one of encouragement and slowly pressed forward to capture Elizabeth's lips with his own. When she didn't immediately pull away (which he'd feared she would), James let his tongue run the length of her bottom lip and deepened the kiss. After a moment, he felt Elizabeth's hand come to rest softly on his cheek just as she sighed contentedly into his mouth.

The moment lingered until James finally pulled away and, savoring the way Elizabeth's eyes slowly fluttered open, turned back to Pete (who was staring at the two unabashedly with a smirk on his face) and asked for a couple of shot glasses. "Makes it go down easier," James offered as explanation when Pete placed the glasses down in front of them.

Elizabeth nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips as she watched him pour the Old Best. Maybe she'd swallowed more of that whiskey than she thought or maybe it was that terrible timing she tended to have when it came to men, but Elizabeth was quickly starting to find this new, disheveled James Norrington quite interesting.

James finally noticed her staring at him and asked, frowning dramatically, "Do I have something on my face?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Yes actually," she said and tugged lightly on the unkempt beard James had been sporting since his ousting from the Navy.

"You don't like it?" James raised an eyebrow. "Shall I shave it?"

"Oh no," Elizabeth said, cocking her head. "No, I like it very much. Particularly the way it tickled my chin when you kissed me."

"So you like your chin tickled?"

"Possibly."

"I wonder," James whispered, moving forward so his lips were mere centimeters from her ear, "where else you'd like me to tickle you."

Elizabeth sucked in a breath as his words sent a jolt through her body. Yes, she was definitely finding this version of James Norrington quite… interesting.

"But first," James said, smirking at the obvious affect he'd had on her as he leaned back on his stool. "To..." James contemplated his toast as he grabbed his shot and held it out in front of him, Elizabeth following suit. He caught her eye and they gazed at each other intently, meaningfully as he finished, "Acts of piracy."

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><p>He took her home with him; to the dingy, cramped room he rented a few doors down from the tavern. There, he made love to her and relished in the way her breath hitched while he moved in and out of her. When she came, she whispered his name over and over until her soft, urgent cries sent him tumbling over the edge himself.<p>

But when he awoke the next morning, she was gone.

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